


Operation Drama Queen

by Whisper132



Series: The Honorable Society of Meddlers [8]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-20
Updated: 2006-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-23 13:10:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whisper132/pseuds/Whisper132
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-haircut Atobe is neglecting Jirou. Marui and Sengoku rectify the situation through the clever use of grappling hooks and heterosexuality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operation Drama Queen

Jirou didn’t touch his Mocha Mountain Praline Supreme, not when Marui slid it closer to him with a fork, not when the tower of chocolate ice cream began to melt and the carefully placed almond pralines began to sink into the slurpy mess. Marui was offended, watching a perfectly good – and expensive – dessert go to waste.

“What’s wrong?” Kikumaru asked, leaning forward on the table.

“I’m fine,” Jirou grumbled, chin resting on the table.

“Uh huh,” Marui said, pushing the shake forward again. “You’re letting a 900 yen dessert go to waste and you’re okay.”

“You haven’t said anything all day and you’re fine,” Kamio added, checking the minutes.

“It’s Atobe, isn’t it?” Kikumaru patted Jirou on the shoulder. “Need help?”

“No.” Jirou’s spine straightened and, in the rush of movement, his shake spilled over the table. “Crap!” He stood, shaking out his shirt, spraying chocolate all over the table.

“Gross.” Sengoku wiped a splotch off with a napkin. “I’ll get some towels.”

“Leave the waitress alone!” Kamio cried, bolting up and running after Sengoku, who had the phone numbers of all the wait staff and was determined to date each of them within the next month. It was his duty, he said, as the only available regular customer interested in the fairer sex.

“It’s Atobe, right?” Kikumaru pressed while making a paper napkin barrier on the edge of table. It wouldn’t hold long, but it was better than nothing.

“No.” Jirou sat back down, arms crossed over his chest.

“It’s Atobe,” Marui said, nodding his head sagely.

“How could it be Atobe when he hasn’t called in a month!” Jirou’s eyes were wide and his fists were clenched. His breath came in gasps and wheezes. “A month!”

Across the parlor, Sengoku worked very hard to distract the waitresses from Jirou’s outburst while Kamio tried, equally as hard, to get Sengoku back to the table with the towels.

“A month, huh?” Kikumaru tapped his chin in thought. “The hair, then?” he asked Marui.

“Probably.” Marui cast a look to the chocolate swamped table. What a waste. “I’ll stop over and check it out.” He pulled out his phone. Three rings and a grumble answered, followed by the barking of dogs. “Hey Niou, you still have that grappling hook I leant you? I need it.”

“Do not break into Atobe’s house.” Jirou shook Marui by the arm, sending the cell phone flying.

“The grappling hook’s for something else,” Marui lied.

“Like what?”

“Secret tensai business,” Marui said, picking up his phone. Niou'd already hung up. “I’m gonna go get my gear and get started. Have Sengoku call me when he’s done.”

  
&-&

  
Atobe lie sprawled across his bed, pillow over his head, blankets over that. It was warm under the blankets, and the stocking cap on his head wasn’t helping the heat, but this was where he wanted to be, hidden from the world, keeping his shame to himself.

His cell phone rang. He ignored the buzz of the phone vibrating against the nightstand. It was probably Jirou – again. Jirou called once every half hour. He never left a message, though, which was for the best. Atobe’s voicemail box would be full soon.

Atobe’s window rattled and the front doorbell rang out a low-toned version of “Amazing Grace.” Atobe remained under the covers.

The window rattled again, then Atobe heard the sound of glass shattering and metal scraping against metal.

“Damn, that was pretty far up.”

Instinctively, Atobe clutched the pillow closer to his head.

“You got any lamps in here, Atobe? It’s really dark.”

Atobe held the pillow tighter and tried to lay as flat as possible. Hopefully the thief would take the Waterford crystal and be gone.

“Jirou’s depressed because you’re being a vain asshole.” A chuckle and then a weight pressed down on Atobe’s spine. The filth was sitting on him.

“Get off ore-sama this instant.”

The intruder peeled off a layer of blanket, leaving Atobe in his silk teddy-bear print pajamas and a pillow hat. “Nice jammies,” the thief said, tugging at the pillow. “Come on, let’s see it. It can’t be that bad.” With a final tug, the thief had the pillow and Atobe’s head felt the first brushes of fresh air in days.

  
&-&

  
Sengoku held onto the maid’s hand while the screaming died down. “It’s master Keigo,” she said into his shoulder, squeezing his hand and moving closer, pressing into Sengoku’s chest.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Sengoku said, peppering her neck with light kisses. “He’s old enough to take care of himself.”

The maid giggled and nodded. “We could get caught,” she whispered, not seeming particularly concerned.

“Are there that many people here?” he asked, stringing her hair through his fingers, dislodging the small lace cap she wore.

“Not today, just five maids and master Keigo.” She pulled closer, her feather duster digging into Sengoku’s hip. “He’s upset, you know.”

Sengoku moved the feather duster and loosened his tie. Undercover work with Marui sucked. Sengoku was always shoved in either a spandex unitard or a suit and tie. Couldn’t Marui do casual wear, just once? “I see. Kids are like that.” Sengoku’s phone rang, playing the Doraemon theme, Marui’s special ring. Time was up. “I’ll have to take this,” Sengoku said, dislodging himself from the ruffled maid. “My apologies.” He handed her a business card for Watanabe Yasuka, bathtub salesman. The name was fake, but the phone number was real. Sengoku never passed up a date opportunity. “Call me if you’d like to experience a world you’ve never seen before.” He kissed her cheek, righted his blazer, and was gone.

  
&-&

  
Marui stuck his fingers in his ears, checking for any brain matter that might’ve chipped off in the might of Atobe’s girly scream. Nothing, thank goodness. “You’ve been making Jirou pissy because of this?” Marui reached forward and pulled out one of Atobe’s short hairs. “Lame.”

Atobe smacked Marui away. “Ore-sama is not leaving until he is presentable.”

“Try a shower,” Marui suggested. “And some clean clothes, too.” Marui hopped over to Atobe’s closet and flung the doors open. “Don’t you have any normal clothes?”

“There is nothing wrong with ore-sama’s wardrobe.” Atobe’s eyes were sharpening, adjusting to the light in the room. “Leave before ore-sama alerts the authorities.”

Marui threw a normal white shirt and a pair of black slack onto the bed. “No can do. You’ve got to look normal for Jirou.” Marui checked the time on his phone. “He’ll be here in about twenty minutes, so I’d get that hygiene thing going if I were you.”

“No one is going to see ore-sama in this condition.” Atobe stood, pajamas clinging to the back of his legs, scant hair spiking out in odd directions.

“I’ve seen you already and you’re making a big deal about nothing.” Marui turned, hand on hips. “You’re really stupid, aren’t you? Like, really dumb.”

Atobe’s eyebrows arched up. “Ore-sama’s intelligence is vaster than your peasant’s brain can ever hope to be.” Atobe’s fingers were beginning to curl. He was probably going to hit Marui soon, if his alleged dignity would allow it.

“You’ve wasted three minutes whining when you could be showered and not reek like an old man.”

Atobe sniffed his arm and frowned. “Ore-sama will be back. With a bill for the window.”

“Bring some hair gel, too,” Marui called after the retreating diva. “And no girly perfume!”

  
&-&

  
“You know something.” Jirou eyed Kamio suspiciously. “Give me the minutes.”

“No.” Kamio held the notebook close. “Rule 38: while in the midst of a Meddle, no one but the active Meddlers involved may access the Meddle File.”

“Give me the notebook.” Jirou was smiling his usual smile, full of fun and laughter. It was a smile meant to throw off the enemy while Jirou waited for reinforcements.

Unfortunately, Kikumaru wasn’t much of a reinforcement. “I wonder where Marui could be right now,” Kikumaru said loudly. “Perhaps he’s at Atobe’s. We should go check.”

Kamio hit Kikumaru over the head with the minutes. “Could you be more transparent?”

“Like he doesn’t know,” Kikumaru argued. “Brother Bunta wasn’t exactly subtle.”

“More subtle than blurting it out,” Kamio said, opening the minutes.

Kikumaru snatched the notebook. “That was different. Marui put something weird in my drink.”

“It’s called sugar,” Kamio sneered. “Right Brother Jirou?”

Jirou was already running down the street, headed for the nearest bus stop.

  
&-&

  
“More masculine, huh?” Sengoku ran gelled fingers through Atobe’s hair. “Spikes, then.”

“Ore-sama will not have Shishido’s hairstyle. Get your hands away immediately.” Atobe was tied to a chair but had given up struggling when Sengoku slapped him across the cheek in the name of one month of having to deal with a sulky Jirou.

“You’ll take the hairstyle we give you and be thankful,” Sengoku said, pulling on Atobe’s hair for fun. “It’s kinda like a cat’s hair. How cute, Keigo-kuuuuuuuun.”

Marui snickered and popped his bubblegum. “We’ve got about five more minutes til he gets here. You get the dinner ready?”

Sengoku grinned and flashed a “V” with sticky fingers. “Michiko-chan says everything will be ready.”

“And the parents are taken care of?” Marui asked, ticking things off on his fingers.

“Kamio called Jirou’s parents and told them he was staying over. No worries there.”

“Ore-sama…”

Sengoku tugged at Atobe’s hair. “No comments from you. You’ve pissed us off enough for one day.” Sengoku frowned down, staring right into Atobe’s eyes. “You forgot Akina-chan’s birthday last week. You ass. She has a crush on you, too.”

“Ore-sama does not have time to…”

Sengoku tugged again, pulling a few hairs out this time. “All done, your highness. Stop wearing those girly shirts and you can pull this look off until your hair grows back all the way.”

“Let’s get outta here. Jirou’s due in thirty seconds.” Marui nodded toward the window.

“Should we untie him?” Sengoku said, wiping his hands off on Atobe’s comforter.

“Nah, he’ll just mess the hair up.” Marui repelled out the window, followed by Sengoku.

  
&-&

  
“They meant well,” Jirou said, helping himself to some stewed clams. “They didn’t hurt you that much, did they?”

“It was humiliating,” Atobe said, pushing shrimp around on his plate. “You weren’t supposed to see this.” He gestured to his hair.

“It looks good, though.” Jirou spoke through a mouthful of food, the first he’d consumed in days. “You should keep it his way. It looks really…”

“Masculine?” Atobe offered. “Distinguished?”

“Nice,” Jirou said, smiling shyly from behind a piece of garlic toast. “It looks really nice.”

“Ah.” Atobe picked up a spoon and checked his reflection. “It does, doesn’t it?”


End file.
